


Muster

by Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse, Caning, Corporal Punishment, FFxivWrite2020, Garleans (Final Fantasy XIV), Gen, Intimidation, Military, Military Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26315410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker/pseuds/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker
Summary: Filling prompt 3 for FFXIVwrite2020.A bunch of new recruits in the XIVth Legion scramble to get ready for morning muster, lead by one of the most cruel men in the Castrum.
Kudos: 4
Collections: Final Fantasy Write Prompt Challenge 2020





	Muster

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Lucius's canon backstory. I think.

It’s a sweltering hot day in Castrum Meridianum, home to the bulk of the XIVth Legion’s forces. The air conditioner’s broken for the third time this month and all the men in the barracks are at their wits end. Lucius has only been here for a little over two weeks and already wants to throw himself into a vat of ceruleum and dissolve. It’s so _loud_. The other boys have been bickering and brawling to pass the time, some getting into fights in the middle of the night over whoever won’t stop wanking, snoring or crying in their sleep. They’ve not faced a single real battle and thus have remained as boisterous as can be, a bunch of green graduates playing standby soldier in Solus’s war.

Lucius doesn’t quite care about what he’ll be shooting at when they’re finally called to arms, trained to obey orders first and consider none of the costs later. Stars above, how he aches to _do something_! To make himself useful, to fight for the glory of Garlemald and put those awful savages in the ground once and for all. He’s one of the many new faces from the Military Academy sent to fill the ranks of the XIVth, decimated by the calamity and sorely in need of recruits. Cooped up in the barracks with his nine brothers in arms, he can hear the rest of the Century wreaking havoc throughout the building like they’re actually under attack. Their Decanus doesn’t look like he’s slept all night and is scruffing at his hair with his face smushed into the wall. He’s groaning something unintelligible along the lines of “Shut uuuuuuuuuuuuup.”

Lucius glances to his comrades. They’re smacking each other about and trying to get dressed for morning muster, staking claim to each others’ uniforms unable to tell the difference between them in the dark. Lights on after lights out meant corporal punishment, and so they were all trying to get things sorted in the sliver of moonlight peeking through the angled window slats. Lucius went to sleep dressed as he did not trust being in the nude around these people he barely knew. And if they knew what he really was, he could be sent to bunk with the girls. He shivers, curling into a ball beneath the covers.

_‘This is what you wanted, remember? It’ll be fine. You can sleep later tonight, they’ll fix the air con…’_

The lights flick on. It’s sunrise, the entire ass-crack of dawn, and whoever’s doing this morning’s inspection is _pissed._ A series of sharp whacks travel down the hallway knocking on each and every door – pyr Caetus peels himself from the wall in horror. He’s in no mood for one of quo Voranus’s canings today and shoves the loudest troublemaker in the room with all his strength. The boy, a seven-fulm pureblood from far up North, overbalances and topples to the ground.

“Stop fucking around!” Caetus snarls, eyes gleaming with terror as he opens them wide. “You want old Vorny to beat your ass into the ground? Hurry up and get dressed!”  
The door to the room adjacent slams open and crashes into the wall. There’s a sharp **_CRACK_** and someone yelps before a moment of silence, then a heavy **_THUMP_**. And then…

“ABSOLUTELY DISGRACEFUL!” Shrill and high, quo Voranus shocks the unruly recruits awake in a voice that could shatter glass. “THINK YOU’RE ON FUCKING HOLIDAY, IS THAT IT? HAVING A GRAND OLD TIME IN THE BARRACKS, DON’T NEED NO SLEEP, IS THAT IT?” There’s another crack, and this time the poor bastard cries out for mercy as the Centurion goes for his backside. “YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING LAPS? FIFTY LASHES FOR THE LOT OF YOU, ONE HUNDRED-FIFTY FOR **YOU!** ” That, presumably, is for the Decanus leading the squadron who barks out a quick _yessir_ before he’s caned across the arse too. The door is left open so the remaining soldiers can hurry out and present themselves for inspection. Already, the barracks has mobilized to get their shit in order and line up nicely, as from the sounds of it, this Centurion means business. Nasty, nasty business.

Lucius has never been punished before. He’s a good boy, he always has been, polishing his boots and weapons with pride. He had graduated at the top of his class just a month prior and knew just how to behave, posture trained perfectly straight along with his drills and salutes too. He scampers out of bed and sets to rapidly finger-combing his hair, slipping into his boots only to realise- they’re gone. Someone’s taken them, and it’s probably the only guy small enough they’ll actually fit. Oen Vasillus. The boy has his uniform on and Lucius’s gleaming black boots and is out the door in seconds.

There’s no time. Lucius will have to present himself in socks only, but not after looking through the mess of their room for anything spare. He finds nothing at all and goes right out into the hall to line up with everyone else for the 6:05 muster, feeling like he’ll faint any minute now. Eyes forward, shoulders squared, back straight and legs together. He stands at attention and awaits his impending doom. Pyr Caetus looks down at him sideways and sighs.

“Was nice knowing you.” he whispers. Lucius shuts his eyes.

He opens them a moment later as quo Voranus draws closer, tapping his cane against the floor like he actually needs it to walk. The man is a spindly looking fucker but limber as they come – it’s just an accessory for the purpose of intimidation. He has a whip coiled into his belt too, and Lucius tries not to look at the thing too closely. He remembers what his father said about taking lashes to the back – to hope they fed you well enough to have some fat protecting your vital organs. The Centurion pokes someone’s chest to force them to stand up straight and gives them a sharper stab to the gut for good measure. Thick, foreboding silence hangs heavy in the hall punctuated only by the clack of heeled boots and the strike of the cane. Quo Voranus’s occasional scathing words. And then he comes to Lucius, looks him up and down and smiles.

“Name and rank.” His voice is crisp, calm. Terribly soft.

“Lu-Lucius oen, oen Batiatus, Sir.” Lucius doesn’t dare to blink.

“Oen Batiatus, is that it? _Batiatus_ , like the Senator? I’d loathe to imagine the state of affairs back home with sloppily dressed halfwits like YOU running the show.” He strikes Lucius clean across the jaw and dislocates it proper, the boy’s pale skin flushed red in an instant. Lucius has never been struck in the face before and the back of his head hits the wall, he cries out, and quo Voranus hits him again. The other side, this time. “Stupid boy. How awful it must be to have to dress yourself in the morning and not have your servants look after you.” He thumps the cane against Lucius’s chest. “Twenty lashes from your Decanus, and latrine duty for a week. Your boots are coming out of your pay if you’ve lost them, and I pray to his Radiance you haven’t.” He moves on to pyr Caetus who is staring stiffly straight ahead without so much as a flinch in Lucius’s direction. Aside from looking completely exhausted, Caetus passes the inspection without a hitch. Quo Voranus peers at the insignia on his shoulder and nods. “You’ll be lashing Batiatus this afternoon for his blatant violation of the dress code. Any objections?”

“No, Sir.”  
“Good.” The inspection continues, and only when the Centurion is far enough along the line does Caetus dare to peer down sideways at Lucius. Lucius is struggling to remain standing at attention, tears streaming down his face now thoroughly bruised. His smooth, pale cheeks are a flushed mess of purple and pink, while his shoulders quiver with the force of restraint used to keep them squared. The minute Voranus dismisses them all, Lucius zips into the room and dives right back into bed. Caetus and the others file in save the one who nicked Lucius’s boots, making his way to the mess hall for an early breakfast to avoid being chewed out for his misdeeds. Caetus approaches Lucius ever so quietly and peels back the bedcovers.

“Batiatus. Come, you can’t sleep in. Breakfast and drills, remember?”

Lucius scrunches himself up even tighter and whines. “Nn-nn.” Almost immediately he regrets it – he doesn’t know pyr Caetus too well, and what if he decides to double his punishment for disobedience? At once he sits up, though his knees are still tucked close to his chest and his face a glistening, ruddy mess. Caetus sighs.

“I’ll go easy on you, really. You should go see the Medicus at least, get that sorted.” A wave to Lucius’s face and unsurprisingly, Lucius flinches. Like a child cowering before his drunkard father – but that’s just Caetus’s own projections, this he knows. He crouches by the side of the bed. “Come on. I’ll take you, and expect you at mess by 0730. Alright?” He softens the order though he knows the others are watching, likely disapproving of Lucius’s preferential treatment. Lucius is after all the smallest and physically unimposing of the lot, girlish and delicate and none too sociable at all. Caetus manages to coax him out of bed and lends him a pair of his own spare boots, and though they’re much too big to be comfortable, they’re better than nothing. They go to get Lucius patched up by the Medicii, and an aether-wielding chirurgeon sorts his face right back into proper alignment in a matter of seconds. It still hurts somewhat but Lucius isn’t complaining. He’ll be careful, more organized, and even quieter from now on.

That’s what is expected, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, it doesn't leave him as traumatised as you might think. Lucius eventually settles on having 'deserved' his punishment for his sloppy behavior and internalizes it as a failure on his own behalf. That's how he is as a character, dude has *no* self worth. He's a tool to be used for the glory of Garlemald, and doesn't mind being beaten if it'll shape him into a proper servant of the Empire.


End file.
